


envious lady stark

by sansast4rk



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Dark!Dany, F/M, Pol!Jon, Political Jon Snow, Takes place after 8x04, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 21:45:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18786823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansast4rk/pseuds/sansast4rk
Summary: “She hates me for taking the North even though it’s rightfully mine, she hates me because I won the war for her people, and she hates me because I have you. She believes I took you away from her, and she’s made that very clear. She hates me because she’s in love with you, don’t you see it?”Jon arrives at Dragonstone and attempts to temper Dany's fury, only to have her question his loyalty to her and his love for her. Set after 8x04.





	envious lady stark

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about this all week (even though I'm sure the actual show is going to go a completely different route lmao.) Anyway, this doesn't have actual dialogue between Sansa/Jon, but it's mostly centered around them anyway (plus dany's descent into madness which I think the show will actually have.)
> 
> Also, as much as I don't love s8 so far, I have to say I am loving the anakin/dany parallels, so I love to write about it. Sue me.

Varys found Jon as soon as his boat washed ashore at Dragonstone. He eased into it all at first, telling him his queen is not doing well, and that he and Tyrion agreed that Jon was best suited to speak with her after her heartbreaking loss. Jon _himself_ was even heartbroken by the news of Rhaegal and Missandei, so he can’t even _imagine_ what Daenerys is going through.

But as guilty as he feels, there also comes a nervous pit in his belly when he hears the news, and thinks of how she reacted to all of it. And Varys confirms those fears when he tells Jon of her outspoken urges to burn King's Landing entirely, before sending him off as an attempt to defuse her.

 _“Please,_ Dany,” Jon breathes out and swallows back his fear, trying his hardest to replace it with one of love and adoration. If he fails, it could mean thousands of lives lost, and he can’t risk that. He can’t, and he won’t. “You can’t go back—not yet. If we don’t form a plan-”

“A _plan?!”_ she laughs bitterly, her eyes full of a desperate need to avenge all of the loved ones she’s lost. “We _formed a_ _plan_ last time, and it got Rhaegal and Missandei _murdered,_ remember? My child and my friend are _dead,_ and you want me to stand around and strategize yet _another_ plan that won’t work?”

She steps forward with her hands clasped in front of her—her hands clasped and her jaw tense. “Tell me, Jon Snow—are you even on my side, still? Do you still serve your queen, or do you now serve your own claim?”

“I’ve told you, Dany, I serve _you,”_ he breathes out, looking in her eyes desperately. “I don’t want the throne—I only want to save the innocents from King’s Landing, and I know you do, too. Who is left to serve you if they’re all turned to ash?”

Her face softens a bit, and she relaxes her jaw slightly—but not fully. Jon lets out a long, unsteady breath, then gulps. He reaches for her hands and holds them in his own, and she lets him.

“If we could get word to Winterfell, to Sansa—” Jon starts, but _instantly_ sees in her eyes how stupid it was to say that. She rips her hands from his and turns her back to him, shaking her head.

“You want to discuss battle strategies with _her?”_ she scoffs, her voice booming and her fists clenched. Jon fights the urge to take a step back.

He always knew she kept her hatred for Sansa tucked away for his sake, but now, after what’s happened, she lets it all tumble out in words that are dripping with pure _loathing._

Before Missandei was executed, he could always see the fire behind Dany’s eyes, waiting to be set free. But she always tamed it before it could grow too wild, and the ice in him seemed to put out _just enough_ of it to calm her.

But now, after the death of her friend and her second child, it’s unleashed and it’s untamable. The fire is rising from deep within, and it’s making its way through the madness in her eyes, through the sparks of flame in her words that keep creating more and more friction—so much that Jon knows they’ll soon ignite—and it can also be seen through the way she sets her jaw contently as she says _Dracarys_ (and how easy it’s become for her to do so.)

Her madness used to be only a low-burning ember deep, deep within her, that she could sizzle out when it caught too much heat. But after all of her losses, it’s now grown into a dangerously-large keg of wildfire with a short fuse—a fuse that could be set off to _destroy_ if Jon says the wrong words, or if his look of fear shows itself for even a _second._

“She has experience with Cersei— _years_ of it,” Jon explains, using the softest tone he can. He purposely tries not to say Sansa’s name, because he knows how she reacts to it. “She tortured her, and told her all of the horrible things she would do to her family. When she was only a _child,_ Dany—younger than we were when it all started. She knows her mind, and how it works. Far better than anyone else we can trust. That’s all I mean by it.”

The gentle voice and eyes overwhelmed with love towards her _clearly_ didn’t work, because Daenerys sets her jaw with a frustrated bite between closed lips, and her eyes are full of rage again. All because he was talking about Sansa, and referred to her as someone _"_ _we can trust.”_

 _“Can_ we trust her, Jon? She _hates_ me, and we both know that. Everyone in the _North_ knows that—all because the _jealous Lady Stark_ couldn’t even keep her envy to herself.” Daenerys huffs out a frustrated breath, then shakes her head and breathes in again.

“She’ll get used to the North belonging to you—she will,” Jon lies, even though he doesn’t want to (but knows he _has_ to.) Then he continues by telling a truth: “But I _promise_ you Sansa doesn’t want to take the Iron Throne from you. She belongs in the North, and-”

“She wants to take _you_ away from me!” Daenerys snaps, her eyes wild as they dart between his. He takes in a sharp breath, and she only steps _closer._

 _No,_ Jon thinks, _she just knows what you are, and she’s scared for me. She’s known it all along._

“I’ve seen the way she looks at you, Jon. You aren’t going to pretend you don’t see it as well, are you?” she smiles, but it’s clearly not a _real_ one. It’s angry and bitter, and the question is something Jon _knows_ he has to answer correctly or this could all get even worse. Much worse.

“She’s lost so many people, Dany,” Jon exhales, trying to make her see _why_ Sansa’s always so guarded. If he could explain it, maybe Dany could see her _own_ hardships in it, and it could help her understand _why_ Sansa is distrusting of her. “She only trusts her family, and after what she’s been through...how can I blame her for that?”

“I’m not _talking_ about what she’s been through,” she growls at him, her jaw tense and her mouth formed in a thin, straight line. “She wants to take _everything_ from me because she’s jealous. She hates me for taking the North even though it’s rightfully mine, she hates me because _I_ won the war for her people, and she hates me because I have _you._ She believes I took you away from her, and she’s made that _very_ clear. She hates me because she’s in _love_ with you, don’t you see it?”

Jon _does_ finally take a step back, then, (more like a _stumble_ back) and looks at her in shock and disbelief, and he shakes his head when he fully processes her words. As much as he feels, and as much as his head spins, he can't show that to her. Not now.

“No, that’s…” he starts, his heart thundering in his chest as he tries to come up with words he doesn’t have so he can stutter something— _anything—_ out. “She’s not...in love with me. Not at all. She just keeps the people she has left close, and…”

“Do you think I’m blind?” Daenerys laughs, and fear settles in Jon’s chest again. “I know women and how their minds work, and your _sister_ is no exception to that. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, and I’ve seen the _jealousy_ in her eyes when you and I look at each other, or leave the room together. She wants you all to herself.”

“She’s my _cousin,_ Dany, she doesn’t-”

“She _does,_ and I’ve never been so sure of _anything._ And yet _you_ claim to not see it. Men are always so _foolishly_ naive when it comes to women. Or anything, really.” she scoffs, and shakes her head in amusement. “I don’t care if she’s your cousin or sister or _whatever_ she is. I’m a Targaryen; my mother and father were brother and sister. I know that sometimes it doesn’t _matter_ if they’re blood, if that’s what the heart desires. I know that better than anyone.”

She looks at him, in his eyes, and he takes in a long, knowing breath.

“I can’t exactly blame her for wanting you. You’re handsome, and kind, and probably very unlike many men she’s ever met,” Dany breathes out, staring off at the glistening waves crash against the shore below them. “But still, you’re mine, just like the North is. And when we win this war, she will have to understand that. I’ll make her understand it, if duty demands it of me.”

“You don’t have to feud with her. I know what it’s like in Essos, that blood doesn’t matter. But in Westeros, in _Winterfell…”_ he starts, but quickly stops himself. Then he gathers his scattered thoughts and continues, with only the shortened version of what he was trying to say.  “She doesn’t want that with me.”

 _Could_ she want that, though? After leaving her for Dragonstone the first time, he deeply suppressed the unnatural things he felt for her at Castle Black, and after they reclaimed Winterfell. He ignored it all and pushed it away, and pretended it was all odd between them because he hadn’t seen her in so long, and they were never close before.

But it was never just that, was it?

He didn’t know what _any_ of it meant, and so he found solace in his assumption that dying and coming back had made him depraved enough to feel the things he does.

(Did.)

 _(Does_.)

So once he left Winterfell, and left _her,_  he tucked away those thoughts and those feelings and didn’t think of them again. Sometimes he could feel them attempt to resurface when someone asked about her, or said her name, but he pushed them down again—this time even further. And as much as he thought it was helping him, it made it all that much harder when he had finally arrived home and saw her again.

“You almost sound _upset_ by that,” Dany’s eyes glare into his, and he parts his lips to take in a breath. His hands flex at his sides nervously as she takes a step closer, then another. “But that would mean you wanted her too, which would make you _much_ more of a Targaryen man than I assumed you were—falling for your sister.”

She pauses, swallowing back her fears of it.

 _“Do_ you want her?”

Jon breathes in, but keeps his eyes steadily on hers because he _knows_ she needs it—needs the validation. Yet still, after everything, he can’t hate her for that. Or hate her for wanting revenge for the people she’s lost, even though he knows the cost, and knows he has to stop it if he can.

He doesn’t hate her, no—but he can see how lost she’s become in her fight for the throne. And that loss is driving her further and further from clarity—further from the _good_ she once strived to be.

“She’s my _family,”_ Jon replies with furrowed eyebrows, saying it _again_ as if it’s a clear answer when he knows it’s not. Especially when he felt things for Sansa _before_ he even knew they were only cousins, and was sick enough to want it when he thought she was his half-sister.

“Yes, and you’re my _nephew,_ ” her lips twitch up in a forced smile, but her hands are balled into fists at her sides. “But that wasn’t an answer to my question, was it?”

“I want _you,_ Dany,” Jon replies in a low, desperate voice, and prays she hears it as his passion for her instead of his fear of her. _"Always_ you.”

He steps forward and looks in her eyes, then presses his fingers into her hips, pulling her into him. She likes it when he does that—when he shows the fire that she now knows courses through his veins; the fire that he seems unable to suppress when he’s around her.

He presses his lips to hers slowly, like he loves her, and then to her jaw and her neck, and she hums contently. He prays it’s working, prays she melts into him and doesn’t bring it all up again, but just as her hands press to his chest, she sighs and says, “You’re good at avoiding questions, aren’t you?”

He freezes for only a moment, before kissing her lips again and pulling back to look at her.

She’s angry.

“You avoid every question I have, somehow, and it _almost_ worked. You’re good at it,” she looks him dead in the eyes—her expression smooth, emotionless, unreadable. “I asked if you wanted her, and you’ve _still_ yet to give me an answer.”

“That’s because there’s more important things than feelings that only exist in empty whispers. There’s a _war,_ Dany—a war you’ve waited your whole _life_ to win,” he tells her, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “A war that Sansa has _no_ part—”

She seemed to like his words in the beginning, and like the fight in his voice, but _then..._

“Do not speak that treasonous _wolf’s_ name in front of me again, Jon, or you’ll regret it,” she sneers, her words full of unspoken promises he knows she’ll keep. 

He grits his teeth and nods at her.

“No matter if she’s in love with you or not, I will _not_ take war advice from someone who wants me dead. Nor will I take it from a man _stupid_ enough to believe her actions are pure.”

She pushes past Jon angrily, then, and walks away from him without another glance.

But then she stops in the doorway before she leaves, and lowers her shoulders with a long exhale. She hesitates as she looks at the floor, then quietly says, “I will spare as many innocents as I can—you know I will. But if I can’t save them all, remember all of the things your queen lost for _you,_ Jon Snow. How I gave up my children and friends for your people.”

She walks out, then, and shuts the door behind her, and Jon breathes out and relaxes his fists for the first time since he saw her here. He drops his head and shuts his eyes, wishing he had just _lied,_ wishing he could have told her he loved her too, wishing he could have made her believe his allegiance belongs to her and _only_ her.

But he failed. He failed Varys, and Tyrion, and _every_ innocent person in King’s Landing, too.

So now he’s left alone with only the sound of waves crashing against the shore below him, and wondering with fear, with regret, with _everything_ in him: _what have I done?_


End file.
